


I get by

by Ponddipper



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Anxiety, Danny is the best best friend, M/M, No Slash, References to Depression, Stressed Nicholas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponddipper/pseuds/Ponddipper
Summary: ‘What the bloody ‘ell was that?’ said Doris, eyes wide and eyebrows somewhere near her hairline.‘Dunno,’ said Danny, glancing at the closed door then returning his attention to his computer screen.  ‘P’raps ‘e’s decided to take it out on the furniture this time, miserable sod.’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea a while ago but it's taken me a while to get it typed up. I've promised myself that in 2018 I'm going to finish some of the stories I have half written and this is the first if hopefully quite a few across the various fandoms I write! 
> 
> Do read False Spite by mimbeech. Bizarrely we had the same idea but hopefully they came out a bit different. Mim I love your story, though it makes me want to cry when I read it.
> 
> I'm not quite sure if this counts as bromance so do let me know if you agree or not and I'll tag accordingly. Sorry to disappoint but there is no slash here. :-)
> 
> This takes place about a year after the explosion at the end of the film.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> Px

The incessant electronic hum from the desk lamp was grating on his nerves, like a drill boring into his skull at a snail’s pace. With an irritated flick of his wrist Nick switched the damn thing off, his small office now only illuminated by the sickly blue-white glow of the PC screen, despite it being just after lunch. Not that he’d had anything to eat anyway. Right now he just wanted to throw up.

Shutting his eyes in a not quite successful attempt to ease the strong pulling sensation at the back of his eyeballs, Nick tried rubbing his temples, letting out a pained groan as bright flashes of light began to strobe across his vision like lasers at an illegal rave.  
He didn’t have time for this. Not today, not now.

Occasional migraines had plagued newly promoted Inspector Nicholas Angel since puberty. Having had some success with medications, it was during his time at University that, while trying to impress a girl, he discovered a more holistic approach. Diet and exercise had reduced both the severity and frequency of such attacks until he had virtually forgotten he ever had them, but just recently they had returned like a vengeful lover and were now wreaking havoc with his efficiency.

Right on cue came the waves of dizziness, some primeval part of his brain insisting he was pitching and rolling like a boat at sea. Grabbing the desk edge in an effort to remain upright and keep control of his body, Nick managed to swallow back the rush of bile that rose up his throat. Taking several deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, he began to feel the nausea ebb, though his arms and legs still trembled and he felt warm, despite being in just his shirtsleeves. (He had his stab vest hung over the back of his chair.)

Feeling a little more stable again, Nick picked up the report he had been trying to plough his way through before, and attempted to focus his burning eyes on the words but they skipped and jumped about the page. It made the urge to throw up return with a vengeance and his heart thudded harder in his chest, sounding like a bass drum beating on his brain.

Sighing, Nick put the paper down again; reaching into his uppermost desk drawer, the momentary relief of wrapping is fingers around the crisp edges of the box of painkillers bringing tears to his eyes. He hated resorting to pharmaceuticals but if he was to get any work done today it was a concession he would have to make. In the last four hours he hadn’t manged even half of what he wanted to get done by yesterday evening. Daily reports, weekly reports, crime stats, monthly analysis, budgets, rotas, vehicle logs, Staff appraisals, if it required so much as a post it note it wound up on Nicks desk to be dealt with. He was sure there was the equivalent of a small forest in this office alone. Some days he just wanted to set fire to the whole bloody lot and walk away. The only thing stopping him was the sure knowledge that such actions were bound to incur even more paperwork to explain the loss of the first lot. 

Where was the actual Police work? Going out into the community, protecting its citizens from crime and disorder? The whole fucking reason he joined the ranks in the first place? Giving up and becoming Kermit the frog looked all too tempting right now.

Taking another deep breath, Nick managed to flick the painkiller box open with finger and thumb, dumping the contents onto the pile of papers before him. A swell of panic fought with the pain in his head when nothing appeared and he realised that the box was empty. This was a new box yesterday, he was sure of it. Or was it the day before? Heart racing, making a sound like gunfire in his ears, Nick felt a couple of tears roll down his cheeks as the liquid in his eyes overflowed. He still had so much to do, a report to finish, next week’s rotas to draw up, last month’s vehicle logs still needed to be verified and despatched. He couldn’t just stay here indulging in his weaknesses. He’d have to go to his locker and get the emergency box of paracetamol he kept there.  
The locker room had never felt so far away…

It took several attempts for Nick to heave himself up to standing, death grip on the desk edge as his head swam and the room swayed violently around him. His limbs felt numb and jelly like, ears gushing like he was under a waterfall. It reminded him of the first few moments after the explosion a year ago only his head hurt worse this time.

Mouth-watering in anticipation of his throwing up, Nick swallowed hard and slowly shuffled his way to the door each step more painful than the last. Black spots peppered his vison like bullet holes in a window as his legs folded underneath him and he was tipped forwards to the carpet. The last thing he remembered was the distant sound of something hitting metal before he finally succumbed to the inky blackness all around him….

BANG!

Both Danny and Doris jumped at the sound that erupted from behind the Inspectors closed office door, each turning to look at the other in surprise.

‘What the bloody ‘ell was that?’ said Doris, eyes wide and eyebrows somewhere near her hairline.

‘Dunno,’ said Danny, glancing at the closed door then returning his attention to his computer screen. ‘P’raps ‘e’s decided to take it out on the furniture this time, miserable sod.’  
Danny looked over his notes one more time then hit save. It was hardly the crime of the century, but theft was theft and if Nicholas had taught him anything it was that they had a duty to investigate every crime. There wasn’t much to go on here, a so called burglary up at old man Burns’ place two days ago where it is alleged some long johns were stolen from his washing line while he watched the racing from Exeter on TV. At best the old man had just forgotten to put them out, at worst just kids playing a prank, but Danny had done his job and reported it properly. Nicholas had said it was a waste of police time, but Danny pointed out that technically if the clothing had been taken without permission it was a crime and they had a duty to investigate. Nick had stomped off to his office and sulked after that.

Danny sighed deeply and looked back at the closed office door. The Inspector had been in a foul mood for days, week’s even, snapping people’s heads off, grumpy scowl near permanently tattooed on his face. He was always first here in the morning and never left before anyone else either. Danny suspected there were nights when he didn’t even go home, but as yet he hadn’t managed to find evidence to prove this theory, save for the man’s slightly rumpled appearance in the morning and the one time he found a stray towel in the locker room. As yet it was all circumstantial.

Danny tried to recall the last time they had been out on patrol together and couldn’t. Nicholas, or Nick as he now preferred to be called, was always ‘in a meeting’ or ‘too busy’ to leave his office. Danny would have thought he’d turned agoraphobic but for the once a week ‘meeting’ he went to in Buford Abbey that always left him looking more tired and harassed than before.

And the nit-picking! Oh my god he was like the NWA, zeroing in on the stupidest of things and blowing up over it. Danny felt the traces of anger return as he thought back to that morning when Doris had been chewed out for ‘lolly-popping’ her i’s instead of dotting them. What the fuck did it matter so long as you could read what it said? No-one ever complained before. When she emerged after ten minutes of being yelled at about proper procedure and official documentation, her eyes were distinctly red rimmed and moist about the edges. Danny had made sure to give her the last chocolate hobnob with her morning cuppa in a bid to cheer her up.

It just didn’t make any sense why Nick had gone all ‘Nichol-arse’ again. Danny thought he’d managed to teach the twat to switch off but it seemed the switch had stuck on again. He missed their easy banter, the Friday night movie marathons at Danny’s place, trips to the pub, the way Nick would laugh and smile at something Danny had said or done. He missed his best friend but had no idea how to get him back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this. Real life got in the way last week and Danny isn't behaving in a later chapter so it's taking me a tad longer to finish than I hoped. Stick with us though. The best is yet to come.  
> I hope!

Ten minutes later Danny stood outside the ‘Bear Pit’ as the Inspectors office had become known, mug of fancy camomile tea in one hand, brand new packet of Nicks favourite dark chocolate Gingers in the other. Using his foot to knock gently on the door, having no hand free to do so, Danny waited for the command to enter. He knew he was likely to be curtly dismissed but he wanted the Inspector to know he still had at least one ally on this side of the door.

When there was no reply, Danny tried again. And again. This was odd. He knew Nick had been in there when he went to make the tea and he was sure he’d have seen if the older man had gone out (though his weekly meeting wasn’t until tomorrow) because you had to pass the break room to get to the front door. It was unlikely that Nick would have hopped out the window in his office, despite the recent odd behaviour, so Danny was almost certain he was still inside. He pressed his ear against the wood, unable to hear voices, so it was reasonably safe to assume Nick wasn’t on the phone. The partition walls in the new station weren’t as sound proof as the thick stone ones in the old place, hence how Danny had managed to hear a good 85% of Doris’ bollocking earlier.

Gingerly leaning down on the door handle with his elbow, careful to avoid slopping the pale green liquid out of the mug, Danny tried the door. If Nick had gone out he’d have locked it, but a quiet ‘snick’ and it swung open into the darkness.

‘SHIT! NICK! You okay?’

Without realising Danny dropped mug and biscuits, all attention on the crumpled heap of Police Officer on the floor in front of him. Dropping to his knees by the filing cabinet Danny shoved his fingers under the man’s collar in a frantic bid to locate a pulse.

‘Nick? Talk to me Nick!’

His hands were shaking violently as adrenaline surged through Danny’s veins. Prodding and pushing his fingers into the flesh of Nick’s neck he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t be dead, he was Nick Angel, super cop. People like him didn’t die.

‘Urrgggh.’ Groaned Nick from the floor, mouth half covered by the carpet as Danny pressed harder in his quest to find Nicks pulse.

‘Nic’las? Wake up Nick. It’s Danny. Open your eyes!’

Danny heard his voice shake like the rest of him as he stumbled to recall any of his first aid training. The only thought running through his head was Nicks not dead, Nicks not dead, Nicks not dead. Spotting the small pool of blood that had spread out on the carpet under the Inspector, Danny grabbed the clean hankie from his pocket and clamped it over the wound on the side of his friends head.

‘Ow!’ Moaned Nick, throwing an uncoordinated arm out in a bid to heave himself up, but Danny’s large hand on his shoulder stilled his movements.

‘Uh Uh! Stay still Nick. Don’t move.’

Danny remembered enough of his training not to let Nick move in case he had a spinal injury.

Just then all the lights snapped on and Doris entered the tiny space with the first aid kit.   
‘Ambulance is on its way.’ She stated calmly, kneeling next to Danny and pulling out gloves and dressings. ‘Now, what you bin up to then eh Nick?’

 

Thankfully the ambulance didn’t take long to arrive. Danny wondered just what Doris had told them as the two paramedics barrelled into the station at a run, almost comically skidding to a halt when they realised they couldn’t get through the main door without being let in by one of the officers. They’d looked momentarily confused to see Nick lying on the floor under a foil blanket and a small wound dressing on his head but soon had him loaded onto a foldable stretcher and in the ambulance. Doris went with the Inspector, pointing out to Danny that he was actually the most senior officer in building until either Tony or Andy C returned from Lunch. It was quite a terrifying thought.

Having completed the incident report for Nick’s apparent accident (complete with properly dotted I’s please note!), Danny began to clean up the scene, blotting up both the blood and spilt tea with paper towels before spraying on the carpet foam they used when Saxon threw up after raiding the bins again. They’d have to get the carpet properly cleaned but it would do for now. As he leaned on the desk for support as he stood up, it suddenly dawned on him how untidy the office was.

Half empty plastic water cups were dotted around the room with at least three mugs of various other liquids. Paperwork littered almost every flat surface except the floor and the bin was overflowing, dozens of empty painkiller strips surrounding it like worshippers at Stonehenge on Midsummers eve. Danny was at a loss for words.

‘Bloody hell.’ Whistled Andy Cartwright, peering over Danny’s shoulder at the mess. ‘Looks like you ad a bomb go off in ere!’

Doris called a couple of hours later. 

‘Don’t worry Dan, ‘e’s alright. Needed 5 stitches to his ‘ead but the Doc said it ain’t fractured or nothing. They’re gunna keep ‘im in overnight just to make sure everything’s fine but he should be able to come home tomorrow.’

Danny let out a huge sigh of relief at that.

‘Does he know what happened?’ Danny asked.

‘Yeah. Said he got up, felt a bit dizzy then went down. Must’ve banged ‘is head on the filing cabinet. Reckon that’s that bang we ‘eard.’

Danny shuddered. He remembered seeing the dent in the drawer front when he was cleaning up in Nick’s office. A couple of inches to the left and he’d have hit the sharp cornered handle that stuck out from the metal drawer.

‘Fing is though Dan,’ Doris paused, several seconds of silence stretching out before she continued in a lower voice, almost a whisper. ‘Well, they ‘ad to take ‘is shirt off at the hospital, yeah? And well, I know ‘e’s always bin a right skinny bastard but you could see all ‘is bones! I mean, I reckon I’ve seen skeletons with more meat on ‘em. Doc looked a bit worried too so ‘e said ‘e’s gonna run some more blood tests.’

Danny could hear the concern in her voice, and the news gave him more to fret over too. He thought he’d imagined Nick getting thinner but maybe not. Was there more to this fainting spell than there first appeared?

Danny thanked his colleague and said he’d get Andy W to come pick her up as soon as he could, then hung up. Running a hand over his face Danny felt his shoulders slump. It was clear there was something seriously wrong in the world of Nicholas Angel, but what? And how could Danny fix it if he didn’t know what needed fixing? How was he supposed to figure this out without his partner by his side? If Nick wouldn’t talk to him, how would he get answers?

Like a scene from a movie the answer fell into his lap. Quite literally. Tony walked in, causing a slight breeze as he passed the desk, fluttering a piece of paper from Danny’s in-tray across the table top and into his lap. A very specific piece of paper. An evidence log!

He’d treat this like a case, an investigation. He’d gather evidence, talk to witnesses and draw conclusions based on his findings. It probably wasn’t a proper use of police time, or resources, but in that moment Danny couldn’t care less. Nick had come back that day and saved Sandford. Now it was Danny’s turn to repay the favour.


	3. Chapter 3

‘So, you wanna tell me what’s going on then?’ Said Danny as he dropped into the chair at the side of the hospital bed.

 

Nick had been given a ‘private room’ on the general ward at Buford General.  To be fair it was little more than a large cupboard with a bed, sink, chair and bedside chest all crammed into the tiny space, but it would appear that the Hospital management didn’t want the ‘Hero of Sandford’ to be mixing with the riff raff of Buford and it’s surrounds.  It clearly hadn’t occurred to them that as a Police Officer Nick had dealt with such people on an almost daily basis until recently.  Still, it was a nice gesture and would make this conversation a whole lot easier for Danny.

 

Nick sighed and became fascinated by his bitten down fingernails, avoiding looking at Danny at all.  Danny got a chance to look closer at the Inspector and noted how his eyes were surrounded by dark circles, almost panda like against his pale white skin.  He looked haggard, deep lines creasing his forehead and the corners of his eyes, but the most worrying sign of all was just how thin the man was.  Doris had told Danny that she could see Nick’s bones and she really wasn’t joking.  The hospital gown he wore seemed about five sizes too big, like someone had shrunk his head and arms, the bones of his wrist sharp and angular like that if an old person.

 

            ‘Well?’ Danny pushed when Nick didn’t answer.

 

            ‘I’m fine Danny really.  Just a bit tired is all.’  Even Nicks voice sounded wrong, no spark, no fight left in it.

 

            ‘Yeah, cos you look it too.’  Danny snorted, crossing his arms over his chest in an annoyed fashion and leaning back in the plastic chair, making it squeak slightly.

 

He’d been prepared for this, for Nick’s attempts at deflecting peoples concern, brushing off their polite enquiries into his welfare with false reassurances.  And Danny wasn’t going to stand for it any more. 

 

The then _Sergeant_ Angel had done the same thing the day the old station exploded and, according to Doris, he’d  nearly dropped dead from a punctured lung and internal bleeding twenty minutes after the ambulance had taken Danny and his gunshot wounds away.  Apparently Andy had had to drive like a lunatic all the way to Buford with Nick turning blue in the passenger seat to get him to the hospital before he carked it.  So Danny wasn’t going to let this drop easily.

 

            ‘I seen better looking dead people Nicholas, so either you tell me what’s really going on with you or I’m gonna arrest you for obstructing a Police Officer in the performance of their duties.’

 

Nick turned slowly to face Danny, patient parent expression on his face.  It was just the one he wore when Nick first came to Sandford and Danny had asked endless stupid questions about big city policing, sort of fond but exasperated.

 

            ‘Danny.  I am not stopping you from doing your job.’

 

            ‘Ah but you is, see?’ Said Danny, leaning forward slightly. ‘‘Cos I can’t concentrate on my work because I keep trying to figure out why you’ve always got the arse.  So please, just tell me what’s wrong, Nick.  We’re partners yeah?’  He took Nicks hand between both his own, best puppy dog eyes beseeching the man in the bed to relent.  ‘Please Nick I just wanna help.’

 

Nick turned away, shoulders heaving with another heavy sigh as he stared at the poster on the wall illustrating the importance of hand washing.

 

            ‘You can’t help Danny.  No-one can.  It’s too late for that.’

 

The words slammed into Danny like a rugby tackle, all the breath leaving him in a rush.  _Too late?  Too late for what?_   Nicks words played on a loop in his mind as Danny tried to make sense of it. 

 

Mentally reviewing the ‘evidence’ he had put together earlier, Danny felt suddenly cold.  Like ice in the veins kind of cold. 

Sudden behaviour changes, headaches and blacking out, always tired, weight loss, regular ‘meetings’ in Buford Abbey, “it’s too late”, “no-one can help”.  It was just like Aunty Pauline!

           

‘No, Nick!’  Danny wailed, shaking his head.  ‘No, Doris said you was gonna be okay!  Just a bang on the head she said!’  He could feel the tears break free of his eyelids, slowly dripping down his face and off his chin to smack the back of his hand in fat wet drops as he clutched his best friends hand tighter.  ‘Nick you _can’t_ die!’

 *****

            ‘ _What?!_ ’  Nick spun his head round so fast it made his neck crack and he had to lie back against the pillows a moment to stop his head spinning.  ‘Danny!  What are you on about?  I’m not going to die.  Well, not yet.  We all gotta die sometime.’

 

He watched as Danny lifted his head, red tear stained cheeks and eyes wide, full of sadness and pain.

 

            ‘B-b-but y-y-you s-s-said...’  The younger man stuttered through gasping heaves and sniffs.  ‘You said no-one could help.  Said it was too late.’ 

 

Danny bit into his lip turning it white and his grip on Nicks hand grew even tighter.  Unfortunately it was the hand through which Father Christmas had thrust a flick knife two years ago and it was now growing quite painful with cramp.  Nick wiggled his fingers until Danny let go, dropping his own hands into his lap with a quiet ‘Sorry.’

 

            ‘’S okay.’  Nick shrugged.  ‘Bit stiff that’s all.’

 

Silence echoed between them for long moments, not even a ticking clock to break the quiet, neither man able to look the other in the eye.  Danny was probably embarrassed about getting things so wrong, but Nick was too ashamed to reveal the truth.  Maybe he would be better off dead.  At least he’d be remembered as someone who did good, someone who deserved Danny’s idolism.  Not the wash out he’d become.  Danny had looked up to Nick, took him as a role model of what a ‘proper’ Police Officer should be.  What would he think once he found out what an utter failure he was?  How he couldn’t even do the simplest of things without rookie errors and massive mistakes anymore?  Nick could feel the crushing weight of his own disappointment settle in his chest again.  How would he ever keep Danny as a friend after this?  It was selfish to even entertain the hope.  No-one would want him now.  He’d probably be better off dead.  No doubt Sandford would be better off without him.

 

            ‘Talk to me Nick.’  Danny’s voice was little more than a whisper but it sounded as loud as a shout in the confined space of the ‘room’.

 

Nick pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around them, instinctively making himself less of a target for Danny’s anger and disgust.  He’d let his best friend down, the man who jumped in front of a fucking gun to save his sorry arse and now he had fucked everything up.  He deserved this.  Deserved to be punished, to lose the one thing, one person in his life he actually cared about more than the job.

 

Tucking his face into the small gap between knee and chest Nick tried to slow his breathing, his heart racing faster than after a run.  He couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t lift his head.  He didn’t want to see the disappointment he _knew_ would be etched onto Danny’s face when he spoke.

 

            ‘I failed Danny.’ 

 

            ‘Nick?  What you talking about?  Failed what?’  The confusion was clear in Danny’s voice, making Nick feel a weak burst of anger, not enough energy left to get properly angry, too weighed own by his own self-pity.

 

Why was Danny making this so hard for him?  Why couldn’t he accept that Nick was a let-down as both an Officer and a friend?

 

His back muscles screamed in pain at his too tight posture but Nick was too scared to relax.  The bullies were right, he wasn’t good enough to be a Police Officer, and everyone knew it.  His luck had run out.  All too soon he would be exposed as the fraud he was, the pretty poster boy, all shine no substance, a waste of space, a waste of resources.

            Nick could feel the tears running down his face but couldn’t stop them.

 

_That’s right.  Cry, like the little fucking girl you are Angel,_ he thought, biting on his lip so hard he tasted pennies.  He felt his body shaking with the effort of supressing his emotion but he couldn’t let Danny see.  Danny thought Nick was a hero, hell everybody did, and heroes didn’t break down like a four year old when it got a bit difficult.  Except this one.

 

            Survival instinct overpowering his shame, Nicks head popped up and he gasped for breath as Danny laid a gentle hand on his back.

 

            ‘Nicholas?’

 

            ‘I can’t do it anymore, Danny.  I’m sorry.  I’m so so so sorry.’  Nick wailed, hands covering his face as sobs shook his whole body.  It all came out, months’ worth of stress; fear, anxiety, and insecurity spewing from him like an erupting volcano of emotion.  His humiliation was complete.  There was nothing left to hide.

 

            Danny didn’t say a thing.  He merely sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled Nicks head onto his chest, pulling him close and held his best friend as he cried.


	4. Chapter 4

Danny lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, head too full to sleep.  He kept replaying his visit to Nick in the hospital over and over, trying to figure out what to do, how to help his friend.

      It had taken him ages to calm Nick down enough to get him to explain the problem.  Turns out that Chief Inspector Dickens (or Dick- _head_ if you asked Danny _)_ had extended Nicks probation by another two months, taking it to just after the IPCC*  report into the Sandford Shoot-out was finally published.  They’d all been under scrutiny, everyone in the chain of command, up _and_ down, but Danny and the rest of the Sandford team had been cleared of any involvement with the NWA.  Dickens was Nicks direct superior, based in Buford Abbey and had also put him on weekly review meetings, constantly checking his paperwork, insisting that everything had to be verified by him first. 

     Now most people would take Dickens’ actions for what they were - a thinly veiled attempt to cover his own arse for not doing something about the NWA years ago.  But Nick was not most people ( _thank god_ ).  Instead he’d taken the comments to heart, believing that Dickens thought him not good enough for the job, a lack of confidence in his abilities by a superior officer.  Nick once told Danny that he’d been bullied as a child but he never would have thought that Nick could be so insecure as to actually _believe_ any of it.  But he had.  And now Dickens was pushing those buttons again, making Nick feel stupid and useless.

     So Nick did what he’d always done when faced with difficulty – he worked harder, worked longer, pushed himself to do better, to exceed the expectations of others.  Only this time it didn’t work.

            ‘I felt like I was running on the spot, Danny.’  He’d said, more tears welling up in his eyes as he revealed all.  ‘I kept trying to do better but I was just slipping further and further behind.  The more I did the more mistakes I made.  And now I’ve lost some weekly reports and Dickens will have me kicked out of the service because I’m so fucking useless!’  Then he’d cried again.

     Seeing Nick fall apart like that had really scared Danny and he felt his chest tighten as he recalled the look of utter _shame_ on Nicks face when he admitted he couldn’t cope anymore.  He admitted to sleeping at the station some nights in a desperate attempt to catch up on the paperwork, as well as taking it home to finish as well.   At a rough guess Danny reckoned Nick had been doing twenty hour days, most days, for weeks, trying to get everything done.  And the worst part of all was that Danny hadn’t noticed, had just accepted the polite excuses and tired refusals.

      Some bloody friend _he_ was, ignoring all the signs that Nick was struggling until it was nearly too late, taken in by the ‘Super Cop’ act that the newly promoted Inspector portrayed.  What would have happened if Nick hadn’t run out of painkillers yesterday?  Would he still be at work now, ploughing on, trying to keep going alone?  When would he have admitted defeat?  _Would_ he have admitted defeat? Or would his body have given up on him instead?  Nick had always seemed so strong, so in control, never letting anything get to him. But if even Nicholas Angel could reach breaking point, what hope did the rest of humanity have? 

     You heard stories on the news of people who reached their limits and ended it all, convinced there was no other way out.  Would Nick ever have gotten that desperate, considered giving up, giving in?  Ice ran through Danny’s veins as he pictured a future without his best mate and felt sick at the possibility.          

     Guilt was eating away at him too.  Danny of all people _knew_ how much work was involved in being Inspector at a rural station like Sandford.  Fucks sake, he’d _grown up_ with it, watched his Dad do it for twenty years!  It wasn’t like in the city where there were Chief Inspectors, and Superintendents and all that to help share the load.  No, in the country the Inspector was responsible for everything from Bog rolls to blue lights, from solving crimes to seeing old ladies across the road.  On top of all the usual stuff, Nick had had to get the new station up and running, liaise with the MET team doing the NWA investigation _and_ begin to restore the local community’s confidence in their Police service.  No bloody wonder he was struggling!  And they’d all sat on their arses and let him get on with it.

 

After the shoot-out, NWA arrests and subsequent explosion at the ‘old’ Police station, no less than six inspectors had been appointed to run things at Sandford and not one of them lasted longer than four months, except Nick.  Most cited ‘personal’ reasons for leaving, but it had been clear to everyone that most couldn’t hack the job.  They all thought it was ‘quiet in the country’ and it ain’t.  Two of the six got signed off with stress within two months of starting, one got drunk on the local cider when he was supposed to be guarding the pub cellar from looters, and another, Inspector ‘Octopus’ Glover, put in for his transfer after only a month.

     According to Andy Cartwright, the man positively drooled every time Doris was within the Inspectors eyesight, always patting her shoulder, or giving her hugs.  Apparently, Nick got so pissed off with Glovers ‘wandering hands’ that he installed a secret camera in the office in the hope of catching the man in the act so they could report him for harassment.  Two days later he struck, groping Doris’ rear as he passed by but, before anyone else could react Doris had swung a vicious right hook and sent the Inspector sprawling backwards across a desk.  As soon as he could open both eyes again he put in for a transfer and Nick had hidden the footage in case Doris got into trouble.

     Eventually, in what could be seen as a shrewd political move, the Chief Constable decided to just promote Nick up to Inspector.  He’d already declared a desire to stay in the village because “he quite liked it here”, and the team all followed his lead anyway, so they just put him in charge, gave him a shiny new Inspectors handbook and left him to it.

     Anger welled up in Danny’s throat again, making it hard to swallow.  Nick had been chucked in at the deep end and left to hope he could swim.  Poor sod hadn’t been a Sergeant for much more than twelve months, four of which he’d been on sick leave, recovering from the sea mine explosion that tried to turn his insides to pâté.  He took on the promotion, struggled and stumbled along, gradually finding his way without _any_ help from _anyone_ and now Chief Inspector _Dickhead_ was making him feel like he was fucking useless because he didn’t tick the right box on a few fucking forms?  How _dare_ they treat Nick like that?  He was a fucking hero!  Nick had been the one to blow the lid on the NWA, a lone voice of reason in a world of madness.  Without him who knew how many innocent people would have died because they didn’t laugh right or their hair was the wrong colour for a bunch of fucking NIMBY’s?

      Fucking bastards should be grateful to Nick for what he’s done.  They fucked up big time and Nick was the one to get them out of it.  None of them twats noticed that Danny’s Dad had declared Sandford an independent Police Force until Nick pointed it out.  None of them fuckers from Buford, or Cheltenham, or fucking Gloucester ever bothered to come round before, never bothered to scratch beneath the surface and ask the questions about why the accident rate was so high but the crime rate so low.

      Danny punched the pillow next to him with such force he sent it skittering off the bed into the inky darkness of his bedroom.  _Nobody_ bothered until Nick came along.  Not even him. 

      The tears welled in Danny’s eyes, making them itch and burn.  Everybody had let Nick down; Danny for not being the friend Nick needed him to be and not spotting his struggles, the team for just assuming everything was fine, and the whole fucking Service for dumping him in at the deep end and buggering off.  Nobody had stopped to notice that Nick was falling apart at the edges.  Danny knew he needed to make things right but he just didn’t know where to start!

            Swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, Danny looked at the clock on the bedside table.  It was nearly six am.  He’d been awake almost all night but still didn’t have any answers.  There had to be _something_ he could do to help.  Maybe he should take a leaf out of the Inspectors book and go in a bit early, see if there wasn’t something he could do at the station.  Even just dusting round the front desk would be more useful than laying here.

            With a determined swing of the legs Danny hauled himself out of bed and plodded towards the bathroom


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Danny reached the station it was nearer 7.  As he walked through the main door he was greeted by a slightly confused Sergeant John Turner (he of the straight hair).

        ‘Ah, er mornin’ Danny lad.  In a bit early ain’t ya?’ He said, glancing at his watch.

        ‘Yeah, ‘Danny sighed.  ‘Couldn’t sleep.  Thought I’d try reading one o’ them manuals Nick’s always goin’ on about.  They’re usually pretty good at sending ya off!’

John laughed, buzzing the younger Sergeant through into the station proper.

        ‘Ow is Angel anyway?’ John asked as Danny signed in.  ‘I ‘eard he banged ‘is head yesterday.’

        ‘Bloody lucky is what he is.’  Replied Danny.  ‘Few stitches and a mild concussion is all.  Couple a days off’ll do ‘im good though I reckon.’

        ‘Yeah, but he’ll be back in ‘ere later on though, back to ‘is beloved paperwork!’  John laughed at his own joke.

 _Not if I can help it,_ Danny thought as he made his way to the locker room.

 

Yawning as he entered the breakroom a few minutes later in search of breakfast, Danny opened the cupboard and blindly reached for a mug, quite ready for his usual morning skinny Mochachino.  With the new station had come a host of new energy efficient kitchen gadgets, dishwasher and fancy coffee machine among them.  Having returned to work only a few days before the new station officially opened, it had taken less than a week for the chocolatey caffeine rich beverage to become part of his morning routine.  Today however he was to be disappointed as his fumbling in the cupboard produced no results.

        Using a nearby chair, and glad that Nick wasn’t there to lecture him on current health and safety policy, Danny hopped up and checked the wall unit where all the mugs lived, but it was empty.  Carefully climbing back down again (because he was an adult and _aware_ of the risks of falling off the chair thank you very much Inspector but I can’t be bothered to go look for a the correct step ladder), Danny’s eyes alighted on the sink.  The very full to overflowing with dirty cups, plates, mugs and cutlery sink.

        He let out a resigned sigh, opening the dishwasher and began to load it.  At least this time things had made it back to the breakroom.  Usually he had to spend an hour hunting through the station for errant kitchenware before he had a full load. 

Shutting the door he pressed start and turned towards the fridge-freezer, hopeful that someone might have left a carton of juice that he could swipe now and replace later, when his eye was drawn to the noticeboard on the wall.  There, under a flyer about the drive-in movie night up at the castle next month, was a newspaper cutting from the day the new station opened.

Unpinning the curled and yellowing paper, Danny took it down, looking at the full colour photo that was just a vibrant today as the day it was printed.  It was of the whole team, gathered round Nick at their centre, bright smiles reflecting the bright spring day.

**_“There is no ‘I’ in team”, says new Village Inspector_ **

 

Danny smiled as he remembered that day.  Nick had been rushing round all morning, fussing like a mother hen, getting on everyone’s nerves until Danny had marched him out, up to the duck pond for a time out.  They shared a sandwich and a non-alcoholic beer (they _were_ on duty after all), enjoying the comfortable silence for a bit before heading back to the circus of the village. 

As soon as they got back Nick had been pounced on by reporters but he’d been polite, friendly and actually a bit charming to the female reporter down from London who’d stuck to him like glue most of the afternoon.

‘So, Inspector, what do you think is the key to successful Policing?’  She’d asked.

‘Teamwork.’ Had been Nick’s instant reply.  ‘Everything that we have achieved here, we have achieved together.  It’s taken dedication, hard work and a degree of sacrifice, but as a team we have overcome many obstacles.  I am proud of my team and I look forward to working with them for many years to come.’

 

‘FUCK!’ Said Danny, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand.  ‘OF COURSE!’

Why hadn’t he thought of it before?  They were a _team_.  Not just Nick and Danny but everyone from Saxon to Tony.  It wasn’t just Danny that needed to help Nick.  They all needed to!

***

        ‘Soooo if there’s nothing else?’ Tony asked, his eyebrows making a bid to play hide and seek with his hairline.

        Danny had never known anyone whose eyebrows moved so much when they talked.  Tony was ‘in charge’ while Nick was off and his morning briefing consisted pretty much of ‘keep doing what inspector Angel told you to yesterday.’

       

        ‘Yeah, I got something.’ Danny said, raising his hand.

All eyes fell onto the newest Sergeant in Sandford as he stood up and walked over to Nick’s office door.

        ‘Dunno ‘bout you lot but I couldn’t sleep last night.  Kept thinking ‘bout Nick and what happened yesterday.  Really scared me it did.  For a minute I thought the NWA ‘ad come back and got ‘im.  But after, when I got a proper look at his office, well s’when I realised something was really wrong.’

Danny leant down on the door handle and let the door swing open so they could all see the chaos inside.  Someone gave an audible gasp.

        ‘Yeah, I know right?  So I started thinking ‘bout how he’s always tired and moody as fuck. How skinny he’s got and how he don’t ever go out on patrol no more, how he’s always first in and last out?  ‘Cept he ain’t.  Sometimes he don’t even _go_ home.  Been sleeping on the floor behind his desk.’

 

John Turner, their usual night owl, went pale.

        ‘But…I thought he was just doing night shifts?’

        ‘Don’t worry John, he ‘ad us all fooled.   Nick’s good at hiding how he feels, we all know that.  But he’s working himself towards a breakdown, trying to struggle on and we’ve just fucking missed it.’

 

Danny took a deep breath, aware that there was no going back now.  If they were to save Nick the truth needed to be told.

                ‘The night before the shoot-out, my Dad tried to kill Nicholas.  He got away and I gave him my car, begged him to go back to London where he’d be safe.  But next morning he come riding back into town, loaded with guns, ready to do what was right.  He risked everything for us that day; his job, his career, shit he even risked his _life_ because he could see what was wrong in Sandford and he wanted to make it right.  You could say “oh, but that’s his job” but it’s more than that for him.  He could have just told his superiors in London, let them deal with it but no.  Nick gave a shit about _us,_ didn’t want _us_ to be treated like muppets anymore.’

Running a hand through his hair Danny looked at the messy office once more before ploughing on.  He knew he was about to deliver a bit of a bombshell but they deserved to know just how much Nick had chanced on them.

        ‘When we was all being investigated last year, you know what Nick did?  He put his neck on the line, insisted we weren’t involved in what went on, said we deserved a chance to prove ourselves.  And what we done with that chance?  Bugger all that’s what!  We’ve just carried on like before, let the Inspector do it all, let him decide what we should do and how.  Ain’t he got enough on his plate without having to babysit us lot?  He ain’t my Dad trying to keep secrets.  He’s a good bloke who’s so afraid of letting everyone down that he’s making himself ill trying to do everything.  And if we don’t do something soon he’s gonna crack and fuck knows who we’ll get lumbered with then.’

        ‘But Danny, what can _we_ do?’ Tony said with a shrug.

        ‘That’s just it though, Tony.  There’s loads we can do.  Why does it _have_ to be Nick what writes the weekly reports?  Why can’t one of us do it then get Nick to check and sign it?  Or the Crime Stats.  It’s just numbers on a spreadsheet.  You like number puzzles John.  Why can’t you do the monthly stats then Nick checks and signs it?’

John Turner cupped his chin between finger and thumb, nodding thoughtfully.

        ‘I ain’t saying we try to do his job cos that’d drive him mental, having nothing to do.  But if we could all do a little bit it’d help take the pressure off.  We need to start acting like proper coppers, a proper team.  Nick’s done so much for us it’s about time we started repaying the favour!’

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there. Slowly. I've broken my own rule and posted this chapter even though I don't have the next one ready. I promise I am working on it this week but other fics jump into my head an demand to be written, and while this is proving trickier to finish my internal procrastinator prefers the new shiny stuff rather than the ones I need to finish. Just ask the folks over in the DIP universe who have been waiting for nearly 2 years for me to finish one story!
> 
> Do keep commenting and pointing out my mistakes. It really does help and I will try and correct any mistakes found asap.
> 
> Happy Reading!  
> Pdx


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